My dad, who’s retired, does volunteer work for the local police — mainly directing traffic, putting up cones, etc. — so that the local cops can go do actual cop things instead.

One day, my dad arrives at the station and sees a Sergeant he knows in a very good mood. He asks her why, and she tells him this story.

Back during the global health crisis, the county wanted to reduce the number of people (and infections) in the jail, so many criminals got off with relatively lighter sentences. This included a certain drug dealer.

A few days ago, Mister “Self-Employed Businessman” had a disagreement with some of his business partners at a gas station and attempted to pull a gun out of his waistband. This did not go the way he’d hoped, as the gun went off and sent a bullet grazing all the way down his leg. His associates scattered, and our drug dealer was promptly taken to the hospital.

Incredibly, the hospital didn’t think to ring the police department until well after our genius left, but now the hunt was on. They knew he was in the area, and they knew he was up to no good, but how to find him?

It turns out it wasn’t hard. 

When the dealer had been taken to the hospital, he’d left his car in the gas station lot, and the owner of the station had had it towed. He logically assumed that the police had taken it, and somehow, he also concluded that his best course of action was to call them and ask for it back.

The dispatcher told him that all he needed to do was come down to the station and fill out some paperwork, and he actually believed it. She even arranged a scheduled appointment for him to come in and do so.

The reason the Sergeant was so happy? She was really looking forward to her 2:00.

Related:
So Stupid It Should Be Criminal

My twelve-year-old cousin’s scooter disappeared. A few days later, the police call up and say that someone found it and brought it in, so I take her to the station to pick it up. She’s typically nervous with strangers but wants to try talking to the cops herself.

Cousin: “Hi… I’m here for lost and found… You have, my, um…”

Cop: *Not looking up* “Sorry, was that the scooter or the chainsaw?”

Cousin: “CAN I HAVE BOTH?”

Back in the early 2000s, as a teenager, I found a purse in some weeds. Thinking I was doing the right thing, I promptly went and turned the purse in to the police. As with their usual protocol, they asked for some identification and contact information. After providing that, they thanked me, and I was on my way, forgetting about it.

Approximately a week or so later, a detective contacted me and asked me to come in for an interview. Against better judgment, I went in without question and was escorted to the interrogation room.

As it turned out, the purse had been stolen and someone had gone on a shopping spree with the victim’s credit cards.

During the interrogation, I blurted out:

Me: “I’ve never even been in [Store where one of the frauds happened].”

The actual truth was that, in my nervousness, I misremembered the name of the store and was thinking of someplace else.

The investigating officer immediately hit a personality switch.

Officer #1: “YOU’RE A LIAR! I have seen you around that place a number of times!”

Me: “Wait, are you talking about [Store at particular location]?”

Officer #1: “You know what I’m talking about!”

Officer #2: “You know, I had a look at your Myspace profile, and you lied your a** off in the description. You put your age as twenty-one when you are really seventeen!”

Me: “Well, people are dismissive of me on forums and act like I don’t know the first thing I’m talking about—”

Officer #1: “Is it true? Are you twenty-one?”

Me: “No.

Officer #1: “Then you are LYING!”

The interrogation continued, and about every other question was met with, “Liar! How could this and that have happened if such and such were true?”

Exasperated, I finally said I wanted to leave. They let me go, but as I was leaving, one of the officers said:

Officer #1: “You need to work on your lying problem.” 

I walked out of there feeling two inches tall, and I remember going home and curling up in my bed, feeling like I’d stolen a charity jar for a child cancer patient.

I heard nothing further about the stolen purse. I got over the incident and forgot about it until approximately ten years later when I spotted [Officer #1] in the news.

He had pled guilty to perjury, tampering with evidence, and witness tampering after instructing a witness to lie to federal investigators.

I made the mistake of picking up the phone for an unknown number because a family member recently got a new phone. It turned out to be a scam call. What proceeded was a bombardment of calls now that they knew my number was active, and it just kept going with seemingly no end in sight. 

I tried playing nice, then I tried playing mean, and then, finally, after one call too many where the person on the other end decided to get aggressive toward me, I decided to change tactics. 

Me: “Yes, fine, you win. I’ll listen to you. But this isn’t the best number for it. I’ll give you my work office number, and you can make that the preferred number in your system and call between 6:00 am and 8:00 pm.”

Scammer: “Perfect! I’ll start calling once you’re in.”

The number I gave him wasn’t exactly mine; it was my uncle’s work phone at his department. (I texted him beforehand to okay this.) My uncle told me about his interaction with the scammer afterward.

Uncle: *Imitating my voice* “This is Officer [Family Last Name] with [County Police Department]. Glad you took my advice and called my office.”

The scammer replied in a ton of panic described by my uncle as, “He sounded like he’d wet himself.”

Scammer: “OH, F***!” *Click*

Now under the impression they had been harassing a cop who had tricked them into calling a recorded and traceable police department line, all the scam calls suddenly stopped. I bought my uncle a burger the next time we met in person as thanks.

When I am getting my driver’s license in 2010, I witness this conversation while waiting for my turn to take my test.

The Wahiawa Police Station functions as a DMV and a satellite city hall, as is common in Hawaii. There are about forty-five or fifty people sitting in an open outdoor seating area relaxing in the crispy December air.

One of the instructors walks out with a clipboard.

Driving Instructor: “[Man]? I’m looking for [Man]!”

An individual runs over happily.

Driving Instructor: “All right, I need your paperwork.”

The man hands over multiple papers — a few more than normal. As the conversation between them progresses, it becomes clear that this man is from out of the country and has just moved to America. He is in the process of getting situated, and evidently, the license he has from back home is not recognized in the US.

Driving Instructor: “Okay, this all looks good. Now, where is your licensed driver?”

Man: “I drive here.”

Driving Instructor: “Okay, but where is the licensed driver that came with you?”

Man: “No, no, I drive here.”

Driving Instructor: “You drove here by yourself?”

Man: “Yes, I drive here. Car is in the back row; we can use. Toyota Camry, very good car. Very cheap, very few problems.”

Driving Instructor: “Oh, God…”

Man: “You don’t like Toyota? Very good car, very few problems to fix. 1995, only 22,000 miles.”

Driving Instructor: “No, sir, this.” *Holds up the man’s permit* “This is a permit. You can’t drive without a licensed driver with you in the car.”

Man: “I am licensed; I have this.” *Points at the permit* 

Driving Instructor: “No, this, you… Did no one… Who did you talk to when you were here getting this card?”

Man: “No, no talk, just paper and test. Take test, turn in to lady with yellow hair. She take picture, say congratulations.”

Driving Instructor: “No one explained what this card is?”

Man: “Limited driver’s license. Can only have one passenger?”

Driving Instructor: “No, that’s a provisional lic… You know what? Come with me. We’re going to go yell at someone.”

Man: “Do we still do test?”

Driving Instructor: “If you find a licensed driver willing to sign for you, then yes, we will take the road test.”

Man: “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

The man separates from the driving instructor and approaches a large Samoan man who is taller than the ATM he is standing next to.

Man: “Friend! You sign paper so I can take license test, yes?”

As he finishes his sentence, he produces $200 from his pocket and holds it out to the guy.

ATM Guy: “…Yeah, he’s with me, boss!”

Driving Instructor: “Excellent, sign these while I go inside and talk to [Employee].” 

The man passed his driving test and drove off in a very nice blue ’95 Toyota.